


To Walk the Night

by drneroisgod



Category: H.I.V.E. Series - Mark Walden
Genre: Gen, Happy Halloween!, Timeline: post Zero Hour, ghost story, more of an urban legend, that is to say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:35:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27314149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drneroisgod/pseuds/drneroisgod
Summary: you are doomed for a certain term to walk the night
Kudos: 3





	To Walk the Night

the desert is an empty place and you are far from home. 

you do not remember home, exactly. home was gentle voices, lemon trees, silk parasols, engine exhaust, sudden kisses, flannel blankets, a dog barking, teacups on saucers, sliding doors, and sunlight, sunlight, sunlight. you have to go home (you know this) but you are a long ways away. you do not see the sun anymore and home is a landscape painting seen through wax paper. 

you are here, walking in the desert at midnight. 

cradled in the shadow of the mountains you walk in the footsteps of photojournalists and protestors. they were here for the tragedy. you do not think you were, which is fortunate. the dirt is red but you can still see the charred black crater in the moonlight where it happened, gaping like a wound that will never heal. they have caged the crater in chain-link fencing and barbed wire but the protestors still come, waving signs and shouting things at the men who sit and watch them from the safety of their tanks.

it must have been serious, that tragedy.

for your part, you have crawled out of that black, charred rock for yourself and you know it is not worth the fuss. what is there to protest? it is an empty hole. you don’t have time for such things (you are walking home). 

you are trying to remember home, you see. that will help you find it, you think. sliding voices, lemon saucers—these are not directions and you are walking home. you want to return to this place of flannel kisses and engines barking because you know, intuitively, that this is where you belong. you do not know who you will find there or what they will say to you but you know that you are going.

you are walking in the dark in a city but it is still not home. 

there is a man on the path, a man who sees you. he stares at you, confused, perhaps afraid. he seems like you: a little lost, a little alone. 

“are you hurt?” he asks, staring at your body. you look down but you do not see anything. “oh, god, have you been shot? let me call for help.”

he is like you, you think. he is also walking here, looking for home. but it is better to search together than alone, you reason, and so he will also be at peace when you both find your way home again. he is on the phone, speaking urgently. he needs help. he will not get home on his own. 

you reach out to him. you understand.

 _“follow me,”_ you whisper.

he follows, but, you find, he is not like you. he needs more help than you can give him. he leaves you when you cross the river, but you do not stop for him. you are walking home and you cannot keep them waiting. 

the sun breaks its first light over the horizon. you pause to watch it. you are walking home. 

* * *

the desert is an empty place and you are far from home. in the sky you see the moon and stars and you think, “i need to go.”

you sit up. you are in a black crater—you recognize it. there was a fire here, you think. but you do not have much time to think about it before you start walking. 

you are walking in the desert at midnight and you are ready to be home again. 


End file.
